


Redbeard

by MoonySmith



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Childhood Memories, Established Relationship, Greg is a good man, M/M, POV Greg, Repressed Memories, mention of an imaginary dog, that weird plot from s4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-30
Updated: 2019-12-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:14:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22035379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoonySmith/pseuds/MoonySmith
Summary: Greg Lestrade and Sherlock Holmes had met many years earlier than everyone assumed. That brief encounter between them had a great impact on Sherlock's life, more than everyone would think, and now the repressed memories from his childhood will come back thanks to what happened with his sister.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/Greg Lestrade
Comments: 2
Kudos: 54





	Redbeard

**Author's Note:**

> Here's another translation from a work I already posted before!

Sixteen-year-old Greg Lestrade, a rebellious boy, had decided to roam the streets of London that afternoon while looking for what should be the perfect birthday present for his younger sister.

He had been wandering around some stores for at least an hour to find what he thought he needed. He walked a little more focused on his thoughts, heading straight for the last shop he thought would help him until he found a little boy sitting on the curb with his head hidden between his legs. A small quivering from his shoulders indicated to Greg that the boy was crying.

He stopped completely; his instinct to help had always been stronger on any issue he might have. He turned his head everywhere in search of someone who seemed to be with him, in case it was just a tantrum, but found an only brief and uncomfortable glances from the people at the little boy. And yet, no one else did anything.

Lestrade walked to where he was, putting one knee in the street he leaned forward.

"Hey," he began to speak, trying to sound friendly enough, put a hand on the boy's shoulder, "are you lost?"

The boy stopped his little sobs and shook his head from side to side without lifting it.

With a sigh, Greg offered him a quick squeeze on his shoulder and decided to take a seat next to him.

He was completely silent for a moment, moving his feet or hands uncomfortably nervously thinking about what he should do. Probably looking for an officer would be the first choice.

Suddenly, the boy next to him raised his head to look at him.

Greg had to swallow hard to lower the knot that had formed in his throat when he saw the boy's wet face. His bright, crystalline eyes seemed to be in doubt as he saw him there. Greg just felt a sudden urge to help him dry the tears on his cheeks, hug him, and tell him that everything would be fine even if he didn't know what was going on.

"You're still here," said the boy,  quickly  running the sleeve of his sweater through his nose.

"Yep," replied Greg, searching inside his trouser pockets for a tissue to offer to him. He took it without hesitation and started wiping his nose. Greg couldn't help but smile at the image. He would be lying if he said he didn't like children; he always tried to make them laugh, especially his siblings. He was sad that the two kids began to grow and suddenly his jokes or games were no longer interesting enough for them. "I'd rather not leave you alone until an adult or whoever's in charge of you comes back."

The boy shook his head slowly, rolling the now dirty handkerchief between his small fingers. "Mommy and Daddy are back with the Detective again," he said softly and Greg frowned at the comment, but he continued, "I also left Mycroft when he turned to pay for the ice cream, but I know he saw where I ran to, so I don't think it will be long before he finds me," he shrugged.

"I see," murmured Greg, pretending to understand all of the above, and  _ who the hell was Mycroft anyway? _ "Still, I think I'll stay until then. We're in the middle of London, anything could happen."

The boy tilted his head slightly to the side and glanced at Greg up and down through him.

"I think there's a better chance that someone dressed like  _ you would _ approach a child like me and hurt him," he smiled pretentiously.

Greg didn't exactly dress like a juvenile delinquent, but he let his punk rock style dominate him from time to time, especially when he was in central London where he liked to attract some attention. He wouldn't deny that.

"Hey!" he exclaimed, pushing him gently. "I'm trying to help you."

But the boy sniffed through the nose before he spoke again, "We've been coming for weeks. Always the same place. I know where I am," he muttered quickly.

"Well, I'm sorry I insulted you, self-sufficient kid. I just wanted to make sure you were okay... since you were crying two minutes ago," said Greg abruptly but regretted it when the boy looked down quickly. Greg mentally cursed himself before adding, "Look, you don't have to tell me what's going on."

The boy continued without raising his head and Greg sighed. He had definitely lost the touch of  subtlety, didn’t he?

"Hey, I know of a place that might cheer you up. Would you come with me?"

Finally, the boy seemed interested, looking up at him, watching him with a frown on his face for a moment. The bright eyes —still reddened by the crying, seemed to analyze him completely before nodding gently.

Greg offered him his most sincere smile and stood up.

When the little one did it too, Greg noticed that he was much smaller than it looked at first, so he ended up carrying him in his arms.

As he began to walk, the boy clung tightly his short arms around Greg's neck and it wasn't long before he ended up hiding his face in the crock of the neck. Greg could hear him sniffing a couple more times while they walked.

As they were about to reach their destination, a boy with red hair, well dressed and just a little lower than Greg stopped in front of them with a frown.

"Sherlock?" he asked, his voice sounding very serious and Greg could feel the boy tense in his arms. He turned around a little so he could see him.

The boy,  _ Sherlock _ , lowered his gaze after a moment and Greg took a step forward.

"Greg Lestrade," he tried to introduce himself forcing in his voice to sound like an adult, but the nerves made it end up coming out just a little murmur, the boy seemed to suppress a snort. Greg cleared his throat to speak again but was abruptly interrupted.

"Mycroft Holmes," said the other boy and Greg made an effort to offer him a smile. The kid in his arms had once again hidden on his shoulder and Greg couldn't help but hug him more firmly.

"I was about to take  _ Sherlock _ to visit that store." Greg nodded his head at it, but Mycroft didn't bother to turn around, he was still staring at him with a stoic expression. "Why don't you join us?"

Mycroft seemed to think about it before nodding.

They walked quickly to the pet store just a few feet away.

Greg left Sherlock on the ground and he gave an excited gasp as he noticed where he had been taken to. He spun around in his own position with a big smile on his lips.

"Mike, look, a parrot!" exclaimed the little boy pulling from the sleeve of the other boy's sweater while at the same time pointing to a cage hanging high above the ceiling.

Mycroft looked at him uncomfortably but Greg gave him a smile and a shrug so he could go and accompany Sherlock to see the store around better.

Greg continued to smile as he walked straight to the counter to greet a friend who worked there.

He spent a few minutes talking to her, catching up on their lives, until Greg saw that Mycroft was again letting Sherlock run around on his own while he was standing at the front door. Greg apologized in front of the girl and walked to the other boy.

"He seems to be having fun," he said, nodding his head at Sherlock, who was now on tiptoes and with his nose stuck to the glass of one of the fish tanks.

Mycroft offered him another one of his serious looks but said nothing.

"I used to bring my siblings here to distract them," he continued then, lowering his voice a little, "When things got ugly at home, I knew that this would fix everything for them." Mycroft turned to look at him again and Greg felt he couldn't go on with his story, so instead, he asked, "That's your brother, isn't it?

"Yes," he replied shortly.

"I found him sitting on the sidewalk... crying," murmured Greg, watching this time as Sherlock gently tapped his fingertips on one of the fish tanks containing some turtles inside, noting his tender expression of astonishment. "He said that... his parents were with the Detective again. That's... um... I hope everything's okay."

This time, Mycroft seemed to think his words through before opening his mouth again, "Yes," he began at first with some shyness, "Something happened in the family," he said quickly, turning his head towards Sherlock. ”He's been the most affected by it."

Greg stared at Mycroft, noticing for the first time that the boy, in fact, looked younger than him.

He wasn't sure if he should ask what had happened because it was definitely none of his business. Even when the curiosity inside him was dying to do it... anyway, he resisted and chose that the best thing would be not to do it. They were falling into silence again, making him feel a bit nervous out of nowhere. Both watched the boy run to where the dogs were.

"It hasn't been the best days," Mycroft suddenly broke the quietness. "Thank you for bringing him here."

Greg nodded and tried to offer him one more smile.

"'Strade!" shouted Sherlock, who was now kneeling in front of the small corral that separated the dogs. "'Strade!" he repeated, turning towards him and waving his hand to hurry him.

Greg glanced at Mycroft and apologizing, he headed to where the little one was, "What is it?" he asked, crouching beside him.

Sherlock was stroking a little Golden Retriever, giggling every time he would lick his little fingers.

"Do you like them?" asked the kid with his eyes fixed on the puppies in front of them.

Greg ended up sitting on his heels and leaning forward to wait for one of the dogs to approach him. "To be honest with you," he was saying as an Irish Setter puppy moved away from his group and ran to lick the hand he had left hanging on the fence, "I have always preferred dogs over any other animal."

Sherlock looked up at him and smiled amazed as if what he had just confessed was the most extraordinary thing in the world.

It wasn't long before Sherlock took his attention away from the little Golden Retriever and  moved a little closer to Greg to meet the red dog with him.

"I like this one," said the boy, stroking behind the ear. The dog wagged his tail cheerfully as he gasped.

"I think he likes you, too," said Greg friendly.

"He's so... Red!” laughed the boy as he leaned a little farther forward to get his little arms around the puppy’s neck, “He reminds me a little of Redbeard," he muttered softly. He had closed his eyes, keeping his innocent smile on his lips.

"Redbeard?" asked Greg in confusion.

"Yes, because he is like…"

"Sherlock!" Mycroft called from the door, interrupting him. "Sherlock, we must go."

Sherlock groaned and then sighed but after stroking the pup a little more, he stood up. Greg did the same thing by his side. The boy looked up at him and gently took the sleeve of his shirt and began to guide him to Mycroft, who had already left the store.

Greg quickly waved his hand to say goodbye to his friend and went out with Sherlock back to the street.

Sherlock looked at Greg one more time before releasing him and walking towards Mycroft. The older brother only nodded slightly towards Greg, while Sherlock cheerfully waved his hand.

"Goodbye," Greg muttered, watching as the two boys began to walk in the other direction, losing sight of them. Greg was sure he would never see them again and part of him was sorry about it, now wanting to find a way to help them.

But he shook his head and cleared his mind, now continuing with what he was supposed to be doing in London in the beginning. 

\- - - - 

After a few weeks of what happened with Sherlock's sister, Lestrade begins to notice that he has been spending more time with him.

At first, it was just a simple visit every two days, where Sherlock stayed to help him with some details he could observe in his cases. Sherlock would agree to stay for dinner with him when they noticed that they had spent hours in the living room of his house sitting, or wandering around as they thought without eating at all. Every one of those nights, Greg was surprised when Sherlock accepted. But during that time it was nothing more than that, Sherlock never stayed longer than necessary.

At least not until a few weeks later. Lestrade had realized that he had missed the first time Sherlock had actually taken a seat next to him on the couch without him offering it to him first. They had just solved an old cold case that Lestrade had offered Sherlock to help him clear that brain of his for a while. Sherlock had been really cheerful that night and that was why Greg had not paid much attention to the precise moment when the younger had taken the seat next to him. Of course, it wasn't until he stood up and said goodbye five minutes later that he began to think that  _ that _ was as close as the Consulting Detective himself had ever allowed them to be. Greg was wondering if it would be normal for him.

But Lestrade didn't try to question himself either the next time Sherlock sat next to him. Because Greg had had a bad day at work and had forgotten the repetitive text messages he had received from the other man where he requested a new case for his distraction. As soon as Sherlock had entered the house, in a clear demand attitude, Lestrade simply snorted tired and after closing the door behind him, he sat back down on his old sofa where he had been watching garbage television for the last hour. He didn't actually expect Sherlock to understand. But it surprised him anyway when he finally sat beside him, closer than the first time. Lestrade didn't turn to look at him and continued with his eyes on the bright screen in front of him. Sherlock let out a loud sigh a while later until he stood up and left the house without a word. Lestrade only rolled his eyes and avoided thinking about the other man until he fell asleep in an uncomfortable position in the same place.

After that time, Sherlock arrived at Lestrade's house more often, without the need to use a case as an excuse to show up for no reason. There were a few nights when they didn't even talk, or nights when Lestrade was the only one chattering without pausing, telling him about something at work. There were also those rare occasions when it was Sherlock talking to him nonstop about something that Lestrade probably wouldn't understand even if the younger one explained it to him with drawings. But he had to admit that he enjoyed listening to him talk about anything, although there were also those times when Sherlock couldn't stop talking about what little Rosie had learned or done. And then Lestrade noticed that he himself couldn't stop smiling when Sherlock arrived in a good mood and helped him get the table ready for dinner. He didn't know what that meant, but he was grateful to have that opportunity anyway.

And then the most amazing thing had happened. During one of those nights when neither of the two bothered to say anything but sat side by side on the couch in a comfortable silence when Greg finally turned to warn him that he would soon go to sleep, Sherlock caught him by surprise, leaning over him and pressing his lips over Greg's in probably the most chaste kiss the oldest had ever received. But he admitted to himself that he felt as wonderfully as he would ever have expected to feel kissing the other man, lacking the words to describe it. When Sherlock pushed a few inches away, clearly about to apologize, Lestrade couldn't help the urge to lean over the other to repeat the previous activity. Greg hadn't realized before how much he wanted to kiss Sherlock Holmes.

Lestrade didn't question what had changed between the two of them either because he was fascinated every time Holmes appeared through the door of his house and simply threw his arms around to kiss him, or when he hid his face on his shoulder. Lestrade was really delighted with the new development of their relationship. Sherlock was the brightest person he had ever met in his life and was amazed to see that, possibly now he felt the same way he did.

The things between them had begun to change so slowly that one day Greg caught himself looking at the ceiling and thinking that so many years ago he would never have thought that Sherlock would be lying and sleeping quietly beside him, in his own bed. Not in a million years.

After a few months, Lestrade simply couldn't resist it any longer, and found himself asking him what he had been thinking so much over the past few weeks: What were they? But Sherlock didn't even hesitate when he replied that he may refer to him as he pleased in front of others, but that all he really asked of him was exclusivity. Lestrade didn't even think twice about accepting it when those words came out of his mouth; he had never thought he'd be with Sherlock like that, much less think about being with someone else now.

Things were going well, Greg had realized one day that he couldn't help the smile on his lips nowadays. He had finally achieved the stability he so needed, both at work and in his private life. 

Everything was perfect, at least for a while.

It was only a matter of time until the same happiness began to explode with the same slowness that had appeared in his life; one day Sherlock had simply stopped responding to his messages. At the time, Greg tried not to give it importance, in fact, his first feeling had been one of relief because that would mean that Sherlock had finally started taking private cases on his own, after months of repairs inside the 221b. But then the days began to pass and Greg still received no response from the younger, until the real concern came.

It is worth mentioning that the job itself had Greg too busy to take a break and go to find out what was really going on with the other man.

And he had even more days of silence until a week and a half later, and as soon as he had closed the case he had been working on, he excused himself in front of Donovan's suspicious gaze to lock himself alone in his office, pulling out from his jacket the phone to call John, as previous attempts to call Sherlock had failed.

"God, Greg," the doctor exclaimed desperately once they greeted each other and the DCI dared to ask if anything had happened to Sherlock. John  sighed. "Apparently he's been locked in his room for days."

"What happened? "Greg was holding the device tightly against his ear. The fear that Sherlock might have relapsed because of his  _ new _ memories was more latent than ever, considering that he hadn't even been there for him to help.

"I couldn't manage to get a word out of him," he replied. "I think Mrs Hudson didn't have much luck either."

Greg let out a long sigh before he spoke again, "I'll pop up as soon as I'm done here."

John made a strange sound on the other side of the line, "Hm, I don't know if that's a good idea, mate. I mean, if I can't get something out of him, I don't know if you're capable of doing anything else…"

Lestrade rolled his eyes as he heard him speak. It was times like these when he regretted not having told half the world that Sherlock and he were together... or at least now he hoped they still were.

"Listen, I'll go anyway, to see what's going on."

"Alright," John said nothing else for a moment as some distant voices were heard from the other side. "Mycroft had just arrived and locked himself with him in the room. I gotta go."

Greg and John said goodbye quickly and it didn't take him a second longer to leave his office and go looking for his car. The case paperwork could wait a bit more.

He was kindly greeted by a worried Mrs Hudson, who sighed in relief as soon as she saw him. "Oh, Greg, you're finally here," she said, hurrying him with a hand gesture at the stairs. Lestrade took a moment to wonder if the woman knew about their relationship.

"John told me…"

"Yes, yes. Go up now," she interrupted him,  tapping him on the back so he could walk quickly.

Greg nodded, feeling a little strange, but obeyed quickly up the stairs two by two until he found the front door open and John sitting in his chair, his gaze fixed on the mobile.

“John,” he muttered.

"Oh, Greg," he said, standing up. Looking a little uncomfortable to see him there. "They are…" He nodded at Sherlock's door.

Greg barely gave a nod in response before walking in that direction, followed by John behind him but he didn't mind about him now. Greg only knocked on the door once.

"Sherlock, it's me," he announced hopefully. Lestrade waited for a moment in silence as he listened to the unmistakable voices of the Holmes brothers arguing on the other side of the door.

To Greg's surprise, it was Mycroft who finally opened it, but moving to one side to allow him to enter in silence. Greg looked at him confused. Mycroft seemed to hesitate before leaving the door open for John to come in as well.

Lestrade nodded slightly with his head in his direction and turned to finally meet Sherlock, who was sitting in the middle of his bed with his back resting on the bed's back, but hugging his legs with tightly as he hid his face between his knees. Greg realized he looked a lot smaller than he really was.

"Sherlock?" he dared to ask. He sat on the edge of the mattress beside him and tried to put a hand on his arm, but Sherlock quickly pushed himself away. Greg felt a strange sensation running through his body, his rejection affecting him more than he would think. He offered a confused look to Mycroft, who only shook his head and slightly shrugged before walking to the bedroom window to give everyone his back. "Sherlock, what...?"

"Why didn't you tell me before?" Sherlock muttered between his teeth, but without lifting his head from his hiding place.

"What?" asked Greg, disconcerted. "What didn't I…"

"That we met each other before," he replied but finally turning his face to his side to look at him. And Greg immediately recognized the hurt expression.

"Wait, what?" John interrupted, getting a little closer to them now. "What do you mean you met each other before?"

Sherlock and Greg simultaneously looked up at him but none of them answered, leaving him clueless.

Both of them immediately lowered his head again.

"I…" Greg tried to say something,  but he regretted as he suddenly felt scared . He lowered his own gaze a little lower to his hands. "I... I didn't think…”

He heard a snort next to him that interrupted him and automatically raised his head to meet Sherlock's blanked expression.

"We've been together for all these months, and you didn't think it was important to mention?" he burst out loud.

"Together?" John interrupted them again, now from the door. Greg didn't dare to look at him this time and it didn't look like Sherlock did either. "Will someone explain to me exactly what's going on here? What have I've been missing?"

But none of them did,  avoiding  his unsettling glance. Everything was completely silent except for Sherlock's erratic breathing on one side of Lestrade. Which only made him doubt if it was okay for him to say more.

"You should leave," said Sherlock after a few minutes.

"Sherlock?" Greg asked softly. To be completely honest with himself, he didn't quite understand why Sherlock would be so hurt after all these years. Sherlock looked up at him, holding the gaze for one more moment with those bright, intense eyes, so Greg felt like giving it one more try, "I never said it before because... Well, I never thought it was important... to you, I mean." Lestrade got a little more worried when the frown on Sherlock's face intensified and his eyes now looked at him with a totally different glow than they did a few seconds ago. "For a while, I thought you didn't want to mention it either. For the same reason... That it wouldn't have been important to you. I never hid it," Greg confessed sadly, shrugging one shoulder shyly.

But something in Sherlock's gaze changed again, for a moment it made Greg fear that the other man really was able to read his mind. If that were only real, Greg really hoped that Sherlock would understand that he had never meant any harm by not mentioning what had happened.

"But it was important," said Sherlock helplessly, again giving him a cold glance, as if the entire previous second of hesitation had vanished completely. "It was important in... in my life, and…" Sherlock stopped and fell silent, a new look appeared in his eyes and he took a deep breath before turning his head towards his brother, his voice sounding colder. "But he doesn't know that, does he? All these years and you couldn't tell him either."

Greg turned quickly to the other Holmes, again baffled by not understanding what was happening there. Mycroft had barely turned his head a little to look at Sherlock over his shoulder, with an arched eyebrow.

"What?" asked Greg worried. But Mycroft decided to ignore him as he continued to look at his younger brother. Mycroft was normally able to hide his emotions with such perfection, but this time he had let seen this strange side of him full of guilt. "What is it I don't know,  _ Mycroft _ ?" But he continued to ignore him. The DCI now turned to Sherlock. "What...? What was it that...?"

Sherlock didn't respond either, lowering his head and returning to his initial position, hugging his long legs between his arms.

Greg felt the same anger begin to take hold of him now. Sherlock was upset with Lestrade for not telling him that he had met him more than thirty years ago, but he wasn't able to explain to him what had happened. Why did he say it had been important in his life? It had hardly been a small encounter with —by then— a strange person.

Lestrade shook his head, really tired. He sighed heavily and stood up. He didn't look at any of them as he hurried out of the room. The one that had suddenly felt smaller and more suffocating than before. John stepped aside without a question, letting him walk freely. Lestrade only stopped when he was standing in front of the window, looking at the lights coming from the street and illuminating the dark sky.

He tried to concentrate on that but failed enormously as he felt his own breath flutter. The rage again running through his body. He folded his arms across his chest, continuing with his gaze fixed on the window, waiting for it to calm him down.

It had only been a few moments before he heard footsteps approaching him. Greg closed his eyes and sighed, easily recognizing to whom those light footprints belonged.

"Now will you tell me what you never told me before?" he asked softly, maybe too softly from what he actually felt, keeping his eyes closed but strangely enjoying the peace he had managed to achieve, sure that unfortunately, it would not continue any longer.

The other man sighed as well, and Greg was proud to recognise that this had only happened because he needed to sort out his thoughts and choose very carefully what his next words would be.

"I did it for him," said Mycroft then, his voice was barely a murmur. Greg didn't turn around, he hoped Mycroft would continue his story and promised himself to hold back and not interrupt him. Before he spoke again, both turned slightly when they heard the door to Sherlock's room close. Greg didn't say anything, but he was hoping Sherlock would be inside telling John what was going on there. When Lestrade repeated his previous  posture , turning his back to him, it was that finally, the eldest of the Holmes told him some things about his younger sister; how the girl had hidden Victor Trevor —Sherlock's best friend when he was little, only out of jealousy. He told him about some  _ jokes _ she used to make and Greg quickly understood that the girl had become obsessed with poor Sherlock at an early age. But when Mycroft finished, Greg had to admit that he didn't fully understand the matter now. What did he change?

Lestrade turned cautiously, staring at his old friend straight to the eyes. His expression was indescribable at the moment like he had rarely seen him since he had known him. Greg tried to keep the tone in his voice quiet enough not to distort it, "What's that got to do with me?" he asked, "Why is Sherlock so upset with me now?"

Mycroft seemed to hesitate. But whatever weight had appeared on his shoulders, it seemed to fade away, "Sherlock," he began calmly, after a sigh. "After seeing us that first time, so many years ago. Sherlock started talking about that puppy you were with." Mycroft paused to swallow and put on a face before continuing. Greg looked at him with a frown, anxious to know the true reason for everything that was happening. "It was like... he was  _ his friend _ ."

Mycroft finished saying quickly and lowered his head.

"How?"

"Call it one of the effects of post-traumatic stress; my brother's little mind decided to modify his memories a little to help it become more... tolerable. To cope."

Lestrade felt as if his heart was about to be torn from his chest. He placed a hand on Sherlock's couch to use it as a support. He closed his eyes, feeling suddenly dizzy.

"Gregory," he heard Mycroft  say, now  a little closer than he had been before, "Greg, it wasn't your fault."

He opened his eyes again, looking at Mycroft with disbelief.

"That it wasn't my fault?" Greg snorted and brought one hand to his hair.

"Greg," repeated Mycroft, but Lestrade shook his head quickly, "you didn't do anything…"

"You mean besides ruining my boyfriend's head," he said bitterly. He caressed the leather back of the couch unconsciously, letting his thoughts now question the truth of what he had just said, would Sherlock still be his boyfriend after this?

"Greg," said Mycroft one more time, now taking a few steps forward and letting one of his bony hands rest on Greg's shoulder. He looked at him confused and for a moment realized that this must be the first time he had been so close to the other man. "You didn't know. There was no way you could have known this would happen."

But Greg didn't respond and just lowered his head one more time.

They were interrupted when they heard the room door open and close. They were soon accompanied by John, who was approaching at a hurried pace. Mycroft quickly removed his hand from Greg's shoulder and took a step back to look at the newcomer.

“The babysitter just called, she has to leave so..." he told them as he walked back to the entrance to pick up his belongings.

He said goodbye to the men and just disappeared through the door.

“I should go too," murmured Greg hesitantly.

“No, of course not," said Mycroft and one of Greg's eyebrows arched when he looked at him. “It's me who should go and you the one who needs to talk to him,  _ Greg _ .”

“But he doesn't want to talk to me.”

“Then don't," said Mycroft simply, walking towards the kitchen, where he took the umbrella he had left hanging on the back of a chair. “But stay with him.”

Greg frowned, but before he could reply, Mycroft had continued walking until he locked himself in the room with Sherlock in silent.

Lestrade was left alone again, turning around to stare outside the window. Mentally cursing himself for everything that's happening right now, even if he knew there wasn’t a way he could have guessed this could end like this.

Mycroft came out after a few minutes, however, he didn’t say anything else besides his goodbye, barely nodding at him. 

So, left alone, Greg took a moment to give himself the courage to go and see Sherlock.

When he entered the room, Sherlock was found in the same spot on the bed where he had been before. His head was hidden in his arms again.

Greg took a seat on the edge of the bed, leaving enough space in between.

Neither said anything for a few good minutes, both staying in the darkened room, Greg looking down at his hands, expecting the courage to appear at any time, but noticing he didn’t exactly know what he should say in a case like this, so after thinking it very well, he said, “I can leave, if that's what you really want,” 

“I don't want to," he replied after a moment.

Greg thought about it a little before he opened his mouth again, “But you don't want us to talk either?”

“No.”

Lestrade sighed and stood up.

“Tea?”

“Fine.”

He nodded before went to the kitchen knowing Sherlock wouldn’t be able to see him. He turned on the light and moved to boil the water. As he was doing the simple task, he heard the bathroom door open and in a matter of seconds, the sound of the shower followed.

_ That’s something _ , thought the DCI.

Greg had two cups of tea already on the table, once Sherlock came out of the shower a few minutes later, barely wrapped in a towel around his hips, letting the drops fall freely from his hair to his shoulders.

They both drank their tea in silence. Sherlock hadn't looked up, so Greg thought all he had left to do now was to wait.

When Sherlock finally finished drinking, he hurried out of his chair and back to his room. But this time he didn't close the door, and Greg took it as a sign. Maybe he’ll allow him to stay the night with him.

He decided to give Sherlock his space in his room for a few more minutes while he heard the characteristic sound of the hairdryer on. As soon as he heard him stop, he also stood up to pick up the recently used mugs and leave them in the sink to take care of them.

When he entered back to the room, he found Sherlock sitting once again in the middle of the bed, wearing his pyjamas but now he had the laptop on his legs.

He didn't look up when Greg came in, but simply got up to settle on the other end of the bed, leaving Greg his usual space in it.

Lestrade accepted the silent invitation, but before, he decided to go and change into his pyjamas as well and use the road to turn off the lights he had left on. He couldn't deny that he was still nervous during every one of his actions, feeling like Sherlock was more aware of his movements. He still thought it was a good thing that Sherlock was willing to sleep with him that night, or even accept his company for now. He didn't know what he had to do to fix everything that was going on.

He took his place by his side in silence then, while Sherlock continued to type incessantly on his computer, Greg decided to use his mobile phone to answer his own e-mail and after a while simply to kill time.

“I'll sleep," Sherlock announced after a long time.

Greg turned his head to look at him better as he settled into the bed after leaving the device on the floor on one side of the bed. Without saying another word, Sherlock turned on his side to give Greg his back. Lestrade didn't want to say anything either, but the other's attitude made him feel disappointed when he realized that they would have no progress at all that night as he thought before.

Anyway, he himself was exhausted too, so he left the phone on the table next to him, turned off the lamp and got ready to sleep.

But the minutes passed and Greg found himself on his back looking sadly at what he could see on the darkened room. He knew Sherlock well enough to know that the man next to him wasn't sleeping either, in fact, his breaths and the noise from the street outside was all that could be heard. He couldn't help but wonder what he had to say to calm Sherlock down.

“It wasn't your fault," whispered suddenly the younger, pulling Lestrade out of the deep questioning inside his head. He could recognize that Sherlock's voice sounded so much calmer than it had done a while ago. 

But Greg couldn't trust the words he just heard.

“Sherlock…”

“I'm telling you, it wasn't,” he interrupted him. He felt him move in the bed and then mirroring his position. “I mean it.”

Greg snorted.

“How can you say it wasn't my fault?” he asked exasperatedly and raising the tone of his voice a little higher. He couldn't understand how Sherlock could say otherwise now. “If it weren't for that encounter, you…”

“You only helped a kid that needed a distraction,“ Sherlock interrupted him again. Greg closed his eyes and sighed, feeling a sharp pain in his chest. Now the memory of that child crying on the sidewalk, feeling more alive than ever after all those years. “Lestrade, that was more than anyone ever did for me back then.”

Greg sighed again. Thinking a little better about what he’d just heard.  _ Did he really think that about him and what happened? _

In the darkness, Greg stretched out his arm to grab the other man's hand, to hold it and wait with all his might for Sherlock to reciprocate.

“I’ll always be with you," said Greg so serious and solemnity once Sherlock had allowed his fingers to intertwine. He kept his gaze fixed on the ceiling, promising himself that he would keep his promise.

“I know," Sherlock replied with confidence in his voice.

“Even if our thing doesn't work…”

“I know," he repeated, interrupting him not for the first time that evening.

The DCI couldn't help rolling his eyes at Sherlock's presumptuous attitude, but he still let himself smile in the dark for a moment.

He gently stroked the back of the other's hand with his thumb.

“I want to help you... to get better…”

“I don't know if I can ever.”

When Greg heard it, he let go of his hand and ended up bringing his body closer. Sherlock seemed to understand the signal perfectly because he himself allowed Lestrade to be by his side until he let his head to rest on his chest. Immediately Greg began to caress his messy hair.

“Together we'll figure out how we're gonna do it, okay?” he asked without waiting for an answer, but kissing tenderly the forehead of his boyfriend, who only dared to embrace him more tightly around the middle with his arm.

When Lestrade noticed that they had again let time pass and neither of them had fallen asleep, he let his mind wander with a thought he had shortly after this all started, “You used to say something about beauty being a construct based entirely on childhood impressions... That means…”

“Yes, Lestrade," replied Sherlock before he could even finish the sentence, the tone of clear irony in his voice. Greg smirked. “Our meeting was so enormously important that I've been waiting for someone like you since I was a child.”

Greg laughed out loud now but kissed his forehead again after he was done.

“It makes a little sense, though, don't you think?”

Sherlock snorted against his chest and waited for little before replying softly, “Well,  _ yes _ .”

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are very much appreciated! :)
> 
> Also, I know this ship (or the fandom) is pretty dead on tumblr, but I got excited and started making gifs for the [otp meme thing](https://feelmyskin.tumblr.com/post/189959003672/otp-meme-sherstrade), so you can go and check them (if you still use that thing).


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